


Tummysticks

by heavvymetalqueen



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Drowning, Frottage, M/M, costa rica 1974, tame vomiting warning, violence as foreplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 06:19:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8317117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavvymetalqueen/pseuds/heavvymetalqueen
Summary: Kaz and Snake do some training in the jungle. It ends predictably.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is all [Octopizzy's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopizzy/pseuds/octopizzy) fault, who dared me. I can never turn down a challenge. 
> 
> "Tummy sticks" is the dudebro name for frottage, and if I have to suffer knowing that, [so do you](http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=tummy%20sticks)

Kaz pulls at his scarf, gasping for breath as a droplet of sweat rolls slowly down the side of his face, soaking into the collar of his shirt.

A storm has been brewing the whole day, and the humidity is intolerable, a thick soupy heat rising from the moist earth, breathing out of the thick jungle foliage. 

They need a better place for their base, and quickly, before Kaz literally melts one of these days. His uniform sticks to his arms and chest, soaked and warm. 

He loosens his scarf and undoes the buttons of his shirt, sluggish with exhaustion. His chest is slick with sweat. Days like these he should be soaking in a cool pool with a fruity drink, not training in the oppressive jungle heat. 

A quiet rustle distracts him from his daydreams of ice cold _refajo_ and bikini babes. 

He scans the thick jungle surrounding him, still and tense like a cat staring at a bird through a window. He sees the shuffle of leaves and realizes a split second too late that it’s not where his assailant is coming from, a split second that’s enough for Snake to lounge at him from the back. 

Kaz spins in place, jumping out of his grasp. Snake’s rough fingers graze his wrist but can’t hold on, the slickness of sweat working to Kaz’s advantage. He snatches the stun rod from his belt, clicking it to life. Snake is shirtless and sweaty, his hair puffy and thick with humidity. One touch of the stun rod and he’ll go down like a sack of bricks. 

If Kaz can get close enough, that is. 

Snake coils onto himself like a cobra ready to strike, a dark grin crookedly pulling at the corner of his mouth, his eye the same impossible blue as the sky peeking through the trees and the gunmetal clouds. His stun rod hangs from his harness, an unspoken handicap. He can take Kaz without it. 

Kaz’s hackles rise, his chest swelling with insulted pride. He grips the stun rod tighter, plunges it forward into the large tan expanse of flesh with a ragged breath. 

And misses. Snake dances just out of his range, infuriatingly graceful, his hand chopping down on his elbow. Kaz gasps, and the stun rod goes flying into the bushes with a crackle. Kaz shifts his weight, wraps his arm around Snake’s throat, tries to squeeze. 

Snake elbows him in the gut. His grip loosens, and then fingers like a bear trap are closed around his wrist and Snake is crouching, and Kaz is being bodily pulled over, flipped over Snake’s broad shoulder, and slammed into the dirt with enough force to send his brain rattling into his skull. The breathless second it takes him to recover is enough for Snake to pin him down with his weight, arms pressed into the wet leaf rot as he straddles him. 

“Too slow,” he rumbles, sending a spike of heat and anger into Kaz’s gut. 

“Too heavy,” he says, grinning around a snarl. Something about being thrown around like a rag doll is as exhilarating as it is infuriating. 

And besides, just because he’s on his back, it doesn’t mean he’s lost quite yet. 

He rolls his hips, just a little, making full use of the small leeway between him and Snake’s heavy furnace of a body.

Snake hesitates, his grip on Kaz’s arms loosening a breath. 

A trickle of sweat rolls down his throat, following the first edge of the serpent scar before heading into his chest hair. Kaz licks his lips. Snake’s eye drops to follow his tongue, and Kaz knows he’s won. This round, at least. 

“Boss,” he rasps, arching a little, pressing against Snake’s crotch, feeling him throb and fill against him. 

“Kaz,” Snake’s voice is a warning, but it’s an empty one. His hands release his arms enough for Kaz to push them off, grip the straps of Snake’s harness and pull. 

Snake goes down without a fight, elbows slamming at the side of Kaz’s head, his breath almost cool on his face in this intolerable heat. 

“You haven’t quite won yet, Boss,” he breathes, lips brushing Snake’s overgrown moustache. 

“Dirty tricks, Kaz,” growls Snake, heavier and heavier on him by the second, his cock hard and pressing against Kaz’s stomach, the teeth of his zipper biting into his skin. 

“Isn’t that why you keep me around?”

Snake kisses him. Or bites him. Kaz can never be sure, there’s always so many _teeth_ and he always tastes blood but after all it’s not so different from everything they do together, is it? 

He fumbles with Snake’s pants and he grunts in Kaz’s mouth when his cock is freed, pushing hard against him, sliding against the layer of sweat of his stomach. Snake is not as delicate, and Kaz hears the rip of his uniform as it’s torn apart at the crotch.

But who cares. His cock is finally out, slapping between their damp bodies, dragging in the wiry hair of Snake’s stomach as he ruts over him. 

The heat is unbearable. Snake is stealing all his breath, overbearing and hot, dripping sweat over him. Kaz is dizzy, drunk, feverish, so out of it he doesn’t even realize the storm has finally started, large heavy drops hitting them, hammering loudly on the leaves around them. Dirt turns into mud instantly, sticky and slimy, staining their skin. Rivulets of warm rainwater run down the deep lines of Snake’s face and into his mouth like a hungry, voluntary waterboarding. Kaz chokes, water and mud and blood clogging his airways, Snake’s cock burning into his stomach like a branding iron. His nails drag into Snake’s skin, desperate for purchase, drowning, his vision spotty. 

And he comes. Against all odds he comes with a broken, breathless croak, dirty rainwater frothing from his mouth. Snake pushes his head to the side, letting him cough out the obstruction as he grinds into his stomach and comes with a grunt. The acid shooting out of his throat burns, but not as much as his defeat. 

“Too slow _and_ too fast,” pants Snake into his hair. “What am I gonna do with you, Kaz.”

Kaz blows tired bubbles in the mud he’s slowly sinking into. “Guess you’ll have to keep training me, Boss,” he breathes out of his raw throat. 

Next time. Next time he’s gonna have the upper hand. He’s sure of it. 

For now, he closes his eyes, laughs, and lets the monsoon wash over him as Snake drags him back to their shack by the ankles.


End file.
